A Dark Year
by alejocar
Summary: In his fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Draco Malfoy saw his future and was afraid.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor I am making no money off this story. I am just wasting time.

Summary: In the his fifth year, Draco Malfoy discovers what Voldemort is all about, and in the process finds himself rebelling against his Death Eater future in a way all his own.

Great, but terrible—a simple but apt description of the First Wizarding War, first not in history, for there have been a thousand others since the time of Merlin alone, but first because that war was more widespread, more destructive, and more costly than any other previous. It was a war that earned its place in history through blood and darkness, and upon the shores of Britain, its prosecution cemented the fear of _His_ name: Voldemort.

And he had returned.

No one seemed to believe it, though. For while the summer of 1995 had begun in shadow, with terror brought about by the death of Cedric Diggory and Dumbledore's rather ominous pronouncements, nothing so far had come of it, and for one boy who grew up hearing tales of the greatness of the Dark Lord and his noble cause, it was a rather disappointing state of affairs.

The situation, the boy mused as he walked through the twilight crowds leaving Diagon Alley, was as a whole frustrating. Yes, he understood that Dark Lord had only just risen from beyond the grave, and yes, he also understood that logically it would take time to gather and recruit his army—but what frustrated him was not the lack of obvious activity (he was no Gryffindor after all), it was his lack of information. He did not know what was going on, and while the rest of the Wizarding World might be happy to ignore the return of the most powerful wizard known and blithely carry on with their lives, Draco Malfoy most certainly was not.

For this reason, whenever his family took a guest, he listened intently for information, watching his father and mother as they danced their way through conversation. For this reason, when the old crone of a witch came to see his father the night before, he was ready to overhear her speaking of a "meeting of importance" in the near future. And it was also for this reason that he had decided to take action, coming to London to prepare for this "meeting."

Turning down Knockturn Alley where the air seemed to grow cooler and the last of the day's sunlight seemed to dim, few took notice of the usually conspicuous Malfoy Heir, shrouded as he was in the heavy black cloak common to the area. Fewer still noticed as he entered the shop at 13B: _Borgin and Burke, established 1863. _It was a curious place that seemed not to have been cleaned since its founding, with widows browned with ages of dust, rain and filth, and cheap black paint peeling to reveal grey, mold-spotted wood. It was a place that looked to hold nothing but dark bric-a-brac, a mess of trinkets that no one in their right mind would bother with. In truth, it was a place where things of value often turned up.

"Good day to you, Sir," the man at the counter called out with a pleasantness that did not translate well onto his wrinkled, grimy face," I am Mr. Borgin, and welcome to my establishment. Is there anything I can help you with today?"

Nearing Borgin, the young man removed his hood to reveal a visage that could only be described as _Malfoy_—white blond hair, almost translucent pale skin, and a handsome face made up of balanced angles and straight lines. What Borgin noticed first, however, was the boy's silver grey eyes, normally so well guarded, today glowed with some unknown excitement. For a man accustomed to dealing with the cold gaze of the father, it was rather unnerving. "Yes. I am interested in buying today."

"Ah, yes. Excellent, young Mr. Malfoy, it has been a while since you and your father last visited," he said in the oily voice of a consummate salesman," What might you be looking for? I believe you were most interested in the Hand of Glory on you last visit. I wonder, would you still be interested?"

Draco took a moment to look at the hand in question. An ugly thing, but something that only gave light to its holder, and thus something that could easily be used to his advantage. However, today was not the day. "No, Mr. Borgin, I was actually looking for unique modes of transportation, preferably instantaneous, and I had heard that you have some rather interesting pieces."

After a shrewd pause,"Yes, in fact I have a few things you might find interesting in back."

With that, Borgin's crooked smile lead the way into a small dusty room cluttered with objects and down a narrow, mold eaten stairway hidden behind spells and a bookcase to where the real treasures of his store were found. With the twist of a key and a muttered _Lumos_, the old man revealed a long room filled with rows of shelves made out of some dark, loose grained wood, and upon these shelves sat some of the rarest artifacts in the Wizarding World: books (many of them banned), magical relics, works of art, bits and pieces of history—but most importantly, he had what Draco was looking for.

The pair stopped at a row of odds and ends charmed to take a person across the street or across the world. "Here they are," Borgin began with relish," Traveling Links. Portkeys that come in pairs, and if you have one half of the pair, you can travel to the other half of the pair, no matter where it is and wards be damned. Made a lot of them during Grindelwald's time, thinking he might invade and families wanting to make sure they could travel safely to their shelters, even though they protected them with anti-apparition charms and such. They were banned when everything settled, but these beauties were saved from the purge."

"Can they survive transfiguration," the blond asked.

"Yes," he said with some caution," though the objects need to be similar, and you might wait and see if they work. Sometimes the magic will throw itself and you can end up quite a distance from where you wanted to be, and you might find you are missing something important when you arrive." In other words, it would not a good idea.

Looking through the selection, Draco chose a pair of small linked feathers the size of a fingernail, and in a disinterested voice he said "These will do."

"Ah, excellent, young Mr. Malfoy. Now as you understand, these are rare objects, indeed…"

"Yes, how much are they?"

"25 galleons each, 50 for the pair."

The blond boy was surprised. He had actually anticipated double the cost for the pair, and so had naturally brought three times what he needed. Then again, not many people were willing to risk the Ministry for glorified portkeys. "15 each, 30 for the pair," he responded.

Rubbing the back of his thinning hair, and letting loose an alarming amount of dandruff, Borgin said," Really, they are rare finds, I could not part with them for less than 44 galleons for the pair."

"Twenty each, 40 for the pair," the boy stated with finality.

Looking down at the Traveling Links with hesitancy, Borgin finally agreed. "40 galleons it is, then."

In that moment as the shop keep moved to package his purchase, the final element to Draco Malfoy's plan fell into place, and within a fortnight, he would learn what his future master was planning and revel for the first time in the glory of _His _power.

"Excellent. I think I shall take two pair," he drawled in satisfaction. Looking around the dingy shop once more, he thought to himself _why not_," And wrap a Hand of Glory for me as well."


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note: this chapter becomes a little much towards the end, but I hope you enjoy.

In the early morning hours of the following day, Draco paced in his room. He was anxious.

_Am I doing the right thing?_, he asked himself. And it was a valid question, especially in light of the dangers he faced should he go through with his plan. In fact, he could easily be killed if he were not cautious, and for what—information that he did not need? That he would receive anyway as time passed? The Dark Lord had the support of his father, what more did he need to know?

Try as he might to convince himself to back out, one thought kept recurring: _I do not know Voldemort._ _Not what he is planning nor what character he is, and certainly not what type of leader he is._

As for his father, he could not blindly follow his him this time because even he could see fear in his normally stoic parents. They hid it well, but years spent under their tutelage had taught him something about the minutiae of observation. He could see it in the tension of his mother's shoulders and the almost invisible hesitation whenever the subject of Death Eaters was breached. Surprisingly, he also saw it in his father, the man who only spoke the Dark Lord's praises. He began distancing himself from his wife and son, jumping head first into activities he once considered beneath him, and redoubling his alcoholism.

He wanted -no needed- to know where this fear came from. The information was too valuable to pass up, and if he waited too long, he would be in Hogwarts unable to do anything, or worse still, he might find himself someday without options, forced to serve without understanding.

It was too important. He needed to know.

* * *

It had been easy to sneak into his father's room and place one half of the traveling link into Lucius' snake head cane. The feather was light and small, easily fitting into the mouth of the serpent so none would be the wiser, and magically subtle enough that even with the permanent sticking charm, no one would notice.

It had been harder to find a way to monitor Lucius' activities. In the end, he found the man's Death Eater mask in a hidden drawer of his study, surrounded with a strong ward to alert him if anyone removed it. Draco easily manipulated the spell to alert him as well if Lucius removed the mask or altered the ward.

He was set. All he had to do was wait.

He did not have to wait very long. The next night, Lucius' wards woke him and he was jumped to action. Gathering a black cloak and a black satchel, he went out onto the balcony overlooking the front garden colonnade, the grand entrance to the Manor itself and the only spot in the Malfoy estate where apparation was possible. Hiding in the shadows, Draco spotted his father, hair shining despite the lack of moonlight, and subconsciously he pulled his own hood lower. As the shining figure reached the end of the columns, he turned and disappeared.

Immediately Draco reached into his bag and pulled out a potion vial, one oddly designed with two distended areas separated by a valve which when turned, allowed the two halves of the potion to mix. Draco did this, waiting until a transparent blue color was achieved in the mixture, and after three vigorous shakes, downed the contents. Within seconds, it took effect. Starting at his extremities, he began to fade and within minutes he was invisible. He took a moment to marvel at the result, but quickly thought better of it, only having thirty minutes worth of potion in him. Certainly long enough to judge the situation and either run or hide, but he would take all the time he could get.

Grabbing hold of his half of the traveling link, he called out _portus gemini _and vanished without a sound.

* * *

He landed silently onto cool grass, and took his bearings. He soon realized he was at the edge of a forest clearing, and silently thanked whatever powers existed that he did not land on top of his father. He had tested the links twice, but there was always a chance…

A sudden and loud "pop" came from his left, and Draco as quickly and as quietly as he could walked back into the forest cover until he was close enough to see and hear, but far enough to escape easily if he was discovered. He took out his second link just in case, the one whose brother rested in his locked room.

In front of him, at least fifty the Death Eaters stood in darkness, their bone white masks reflecting what little light there was even as their cloaks caused them to melt into the shadows. They stood in the middle of the clearing, a double circle of black figures still and silent under the New Moon.

Minutes passed with nothing happening, no one moving, no one speaking, no one arriving. Draco found himself wondering what cloths he would wear tomorrow for Pansy's visit and almost missed noticing that the stars no longer seemed to shine. In fact, the sky seemed to be sinking into the center of the circle as a pillar of black descended out of the void above them. As suddenly as it had appeared, it dispersed, leaving behind a tall creature with long limbs obscured in a cloak that seemed to float upon the air currents. Slowly, It moved to each member of the circle, taking Its time until, finally satisfied, It walked in an oddly disjointed manner to the center of the group.

Since Its arrival, not even the forest animals dared to make noise, so it was all the more startling when a high grating voice pierced the night's silence. In sibilant nasal tones It said," Welcome, welcome my brothers, my sisters—my Death Eaters. Those who first among the Wizarding kind are loyal until their own…"

Every Death Eater fell to their knees, some so fast they probably managed to break something, but all eager and voicing adulation to the creature standing among them. _It_ seemed to revel in their debasement, seeing what were undoubtedly some of the most prominent purebloods in Britain degrade themselves before him as they would no one else, and it sickened him to realize that his father was among this group of worshipers.

And then he felt nothing but fear as the creature revealed itself: thin and snake-like, the beast looked like a half formed skeleton with nearly translucent skin stretched taunt over bone and blood vessels. His dark scarlet eyes set in slits like a cat's peered at the group and shined with an unholy light, and as he turned Draco realized the man had no nose, but rather flat expanse of skin with snake-like slits. Slowly, It raised spider-like hands to reveal a long wand of bleached white wood, and with a flick of its wrist lit ghost fire above his head, illuminating him and his followers in a sickly grey glow.

As they quieted, Lord Voldemort, in the same unsettling voice, began again," Yes, my loyal followers. Not so long ago we gathered and brought Britain to its knees, and but for an accident, we would have crushed the Ministry and Dumbledore, we would have ousted the Muggle-loving fools who taint our society, and we would have established the dominion of Magical Purity. We would have birthed a new era of enchantment not seen since the great Sorcerers of old were proclaimed Gods.

Unfortunately, that accident did occur, and though I was brought low, I survived, as a spirit yes, but I survived none the less, and in the process have defeated Death and Fate in one, defeated the fear of mortal men. Yes my Death Eaters, I have defeated the grave and found it wanting, found myself the victor. No longer do they hold me, for I AM IMMORTAL. I am the one who will lead this cause once more, and we will find victory, for beyond the veil, I have seen the worst of Hell, and have brought back unscathed the power that made me feared across our land. "

And it is our land, the land of the forefathers who first brought magic into practice in the home as well as in Hogwarts, and it is high time we reclaimed our birthright. It is our time, to live, to learn, and to rule! Muggles for too long have been permitted to control the sacred places of Albion, and as they scurried around in the dirt, they destroyed the once proud green hills and forests of England, leaving behind waste and stagnation. More, the fools who now govern our corrupt Ministry and who dare pollute our children's thoughts through their education—their education, mind you—have allowed the impurities and weaknesses of the Muggle to contaminate our world, their destructive tendencies and their weak morals.

And the result? I ask you: When was the last time a spell was invented? When was the last time a major breakthrough in magic was made?

I will tell you: before Dumbledore, before him and his ilk renewed their efforts to control the Wizarding World and reshape it in their pitiful attempts to harmonize with an inferior race threatening to destroy our World through sheer overpopulation and nearsightedness. They may have once been noble in cause, but we must see them for what they are: dangers to our race. For as they continue with their debasement, they dilute the minds and magic of our children, leaving little to no inheritance for our grandchildren.

And so, I ask you to fight with me. Are you willing to go beyond the pale to bring about a revolution to save our World? Are you ready to do what you must in order to turn the tide? Are you one with me in mind and magic to make things right? I ask you now, stand, stand with me and fight!"

Every member in the circle stood as one, and much to Draco's chagrin so did he. When the night began and the creature appeared, he could not fathom why anyone would follow, but listening to everything he believed in brilliant tones, speaking of the terrible truths of their time—he could not help himself.

And then he saw them: clustered around the edges of the circle there were people, families clinging to each other in fear.

_Who are they?_

He soon found out.

The circle turned and individuals broke off to roughly drag these families into the ghost light. As high hysterical laughs erupted across the group that spoke horror to his very soul, Voldemort screamed," THESE ARE MUGGLES. YOU ARE WIZARDS. SHOW THEM WHAT THAT MEANS."

In one terrible moment, chaos broke out as the muggle families cried and the pureblood wizards cursed.

Blood bathed the clearing and floated in the air as dozens of lights flew at men and women desperately trying to protect their children. It was no use as the wizards around them showed no sign of sorrow or of stopping. Spells meant to cut, spells meant to cause pain, spells meant to terrify—all were used with abandon. He watched in horror as a boy's stomach exploded, littering the ground with his intestines, as a husband found his wife's head fall into his lap. He watched as another man became a writhing mass of pulped flesh, as skin was flayed off a young body, and as bones were twisted and powdered from within. Turning his head he saw another figure cloaked in black cut into a pregnant woman, and using his hand, he removed the fetus as she looked on helpless.

Everyone screaming—_crucio, reducto, imperio, despulso, battuo, besala, bombarda, cassesprit, __furnunculus mago, incendio, flagrante, castigato, velo, avisi, morte, blasfemo totalis, avada kedavera, avada kedavera, avadakedavera… please stop, PLEASE!_

They had reached barbarity unspeakable in the course of a few minutes, laying down their wands and ripping into the muggles with their bare hands, wallowing in the elastic warmth of expelled entrails, painting themselves in fresh blood, and taking heirloom knives to soft skin. He saw a dark figure rutting against a blood spattered girl as he literally chewed threw her neck. He saw a gown man urinate onto a dead body while laughing. He saw that he could take no more.

With a quiet _portus_ _gemini_, he felt the tug at his navel and opening his eyes, found himself vomiting in the blessed silence of his room, thinking all the while: _my father is a Death Eater._


End file.
